


The Last Starfall

by fyrfly



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Multi, Slow Burn, basically this is gonna be f/f into poly, eventually, hashtag morrigan deserves better, how crazy would that be?, idk does it look like i know what im doing here, like imagine, so im throwing aelin at her, uhhmmm, what if aelin just fell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2019-08-23 13:46:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16620161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyrfly/pseuds/fyrfly
Summary: Only a single star fell that night. Rhysand, desperate to savor the moment, to savor the memory, slowed the spirit's decent. But it was too much. He pulled the spirit from the sky, and it crash-landed somewhere in the mountains. What Rhys and Feyre find is definitely not a spirit, and much less what they expect.





	1. it's a bird! it's a plane! it's - oH MY GODS SHE'S ON FIRE

**Author's Note:**

> started writing this at 2am and now it's 5:30am. raise your hand if you feel personally attacked by sjm. anyway page 800 of koa fucked me up and now im here writing a full fic about the What If that has plagued my brain ever since i read those damn words with my damn eyes. fuck u sjm. buckle up kids.

Rhys landed. Snow, dirt and rock sprayed around them, twinkling in the gleam of moonlight. He set his mate down, an arm on her elbow as she steadied herself in the snow. He had landed them a healthy distance away from the star that fell that night. It was his mistake; his greedy, selfish mistake to try and make the spirit shine for longer in the sky than its path intended. In the last century, since the wall’s collapse, the spirits that made their journey every year were fewer and fewer. It broke his heart. Broke it to think that his child would come into a world without knowing what Starfall looked like. 

His eyes slid to Feyre, his mate, beside him. A hand on her full round stomach as she gazed at the smoldering patch of ground not too far away from them. She looked so sad as she took in the sight. Rhys’ eyes followed the dark trail that widened until it halted in the ground. Smoke and steam billowed off the mass that lay there. Rhys thought the mass was so small for how big a hole it made.

A gentle hand brushed his shoulder. His eyes immediately found hers, just as they always had, as they always would. “I want to see if they’re alright.” Rhys could hear the worry in her voice, the non-suggestion. And Rhys knew that if he hesitated, Feyre would charge ahead without a second thought. But this was, after all, his fault. So he guided her to where the trail began, to where the snow was cleared enough that they stood on solid ground.

They walked the 20 or so feet to the mound of smoke and steam; small flecks of bluish flame speckled the edges of the path. Not flame, Rhys realized, but swirling strands of starlight he didn’t doubt burned like fire. Starfire, he mused with a small slash of a smile. He’d never seen one of the spirits of Starfall up close, never dared to wonder what those tails of light looked or felt like. A bitter kind of satisfaction washed over him as they neared the mass where the spirit lay.

Feyre gasped, and he whirled; his senses flaring at his mate’s sudden shock and flicker of fear he could feel echoed down the bond between them. Not a spirit. It wasn’t a spirit at all, or, at least not what he expected one of the Starfall spirits to look like. She was a Faerie. High Fae by the angular features and delicate point of her ears.

“Rhys what did you do?” Feyre breathed and she took hurried steps closer to the female. An atrocity, that’s what he’d done. Forced a spirit to crash land on his mountain for the sake of enjoying it’s presence for a moment longer. “Stop that.” Feyre said cooly as she kneeled awkwardly around her full belly. The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. He knelt beside his mate and helped to straighten out the female’s limbs, rolled her more squarely on her back, brushed golden hair from her face. Feyre splayed a hand over the female’s body, a soft white glow emitting from her fingertips. Rhys watched as her hand shown with the power gifted from the Dawn Court, watched her as she assessed.

“Good news,” Feyre began, her hand passing over a second time for good measure, “She’s just passed out. Nothing broken besides a few scratches and bruises that are already healing.” Feyre sliced a glance at him, and then back to the body before them, her lips curling between her teeth.

“What is it?” Rhys finally asked, sensing her growing distress.

Feyre wrapped a cautious arm around her belly, “She’s not even settled Rhys.” Tears swelled in her eyes and slipped over a cheek. “She’s so young.”

“But,” Rhys tried, “she’ll be alright.” Feyre nodded. “So why are-”

“Rowan?”

They froze. The voice was small and strained. Tired. The two High Fae exchanged a wary glance before Rhys ventured, “There is no Rowan here.” Turquoise eyes rimmed with gold fluttered open, awake. A strange, otherworldly essence had Rhys shifting between Feyre and the female. Her eyes landed on Rhys and recoiled, not at him he realized, but at the wings tucked behind him. He smiled at her carefully. “What is your name?” Rhys pushed, stretching out a hand to help her sit up.

She did not take it. She recoiled further, going so far as to move as far away from him as she could get in the little ditch. “Where is Rowan?” And although she demanded the answer, the panic that Rhys scented on her told him she knew this Rowan would not be found here. Rhys angled his head at her as he sent a tendril of his mind at her. She had no mental barriers up. Not even remnants of one. He schooled his face into unthreatening warmness as his tendril of power soothed and carressed her mind to calm.

“Please, tell us your name.” Feyre had stood, one hand on Rhys’ shoulder, the other on her stomach. A look of recognition flashed across the female’s face. Her strange, turquoise eyes darted from Feyre to Rhys. He cringed as he felt the thoughts cross her mind.

“You.” She snarled, her elongated canines flashing, and eyes swirling with hate, “You made me fall. Why?” She demanded, practically spitting.

“It was a mistake.” Rhys said smoothly, his dark tendril of power still coaxing her mind. He did not want to change or alter anything, no he felt that doing so would be wrong. But, despite having no mental shields or walls, her mind was steadfast, stubborn. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any harm by it.” Rhys added quickly.

Rhys and Feyre watched as she slumped against the wall of the ditch. A bitter, soulless laugh escaped her lips, “No,” she said, curling her legs to her chest, “I suppose you didn’t.”

Helpless. She looked so utterly helpless. Rhys’ tendril of power was still inside her mind. Thoughts of places and people he had never seen or met raced through her. Images of battles in a city’s streets, in a marsh, and on sea. Scenes between her and a lover - not a lover, mate, passed through her mind. A feeling of reaching for a bond that no longer existed. Nausea roiled in Rhys’ gut and he resisted the urge to reach for Feyre’s hand lest he give himself away. 

He pulled his power from her mind just as she asked, “Have you heard of a place called Erilea?” Rhys’ violet eyes met hers, a last glimmer of hope twinkling. He smiled weakly and shook his head, realizing fully that this young, Faerie female truly was not of this world. She pulled her knees in tighter, arms wrapping around them, and she was enveloped in those swirling bluish flames, speckled with little white lights. Starfire. Unknown and new. Volatile. The blue swirls expanded, pulsating with every sob of the female.

“Rhys!” Feyre warned as a lick of that starfire edged dangerously near them. Rhys winced as he threw out his power towards the erupting female’s mind once more. He urged her mind to sleep. To pass through this unbearable torment, whatever cruelty fate put her through. Sleep, his power urged. And the starfire ebbed, coiling back into the female. Sleep.

“Aelin,” Rhys said as he scooped up the now sleeping female. Feyre just stared at the golden hair, the scratched face. “Her name is Aelin.” Feyre nodded solemnly, wrapping an arm around his waist.

And they winnowed home.


	2. mommy, mommy, are we there yet?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shreds koa into itty bitty pieces and snORts it right up my nose* im a healthy person also i definitely know what im doing here.
> 
> thank you to everyone who is reading, and commenting. im a real sporadic writer so chapter updates will be in bursts directly correlated to how much homework im currently procrastinating. i dont have everything planned out cuz planning is for people who have their life together, but i do know kinda key plot points. so what im saying is this definitely has an ending. when we get there is a totally different story. enjoy~

Aelin awoke as if she were surfacing from underwater. A slow and steady rise from the blackness of sleep. A window was open somewhere. She could tell by the clear, gentle trilling of birds on a late spring breeze, and a soft rustle of curtains. Sounds and smells came clearer to her as she slowly came to full consciousness, like the details of a painting finally coming into view. Children laughed in the street, horses pulled carriages and carts, waves lapped lazily against that gentle breeze. Her eyes slid open, and she sat upright in the bed to take a better look at her surroundings. She was in a room made of red stone, accented with cream and soft blues and pale furniture. The architecture and stylings of the room were nothing like she had ever seen before. It was elegant, yet subdued simplicity. A home.

A pang of panic racked through her as false memories of other too-good-to-be-true places surfaced from the darkest corners of her mind. A wicked laugh ringing in her ears. She lifted shaking hands, turning them over and over before touching her face and feeling only skin. But was this real? Was this another made-up vision, and were her hands actually shackled somewhere far away from here? Was she still wearing that mask? Would she look over to the corner of the room and find a golden wolf blinking their secret language to her?

“Out!” hissed a hushed voice from a floor below. Aelin’s ears twitched at the sound of chairs scraping, boots scuffing against carpet and wood floors. There were the sounds of bemoaned grumblings, a door opening, closing, and then the flapping of mighty wings from outside the house. A shiver crawled its way up Aelin’s spine as the sound of those leathery wings faded.

The sound of clinking porcelain, and slow, steady footsteps made their way up the nearby stairs. The footsteps stopped at the door to her room, paused for a moment long enough to make Aelin think that they would turn around. But she realized only when the door opened that the delay wasn’t in hesitation, but encumbrance. The pregnant Fae female entered with a full tea set, shuffling in carefully with a smile as sweet as honey.

Aelin surged for the blankets, an instinct coming over her, “Stop.” The female ordered in a tone laced with a sigh. “I have enough people in this house bending over backwards to try and assist me. I don’t need another.” She set the tray down on the nearby vanity, and began pouring the tea, her soft smile never leaving her face. She served Aelin first, Aelin flashing a grateful smile, and tugged over the chair from the vanity to sit beside the bed.

They shared their first sips of the tea together in silence. Aelin marveled in the taste of the hot spiced, herby flavor of it, unfamiliar, yet homey. “Where am I?” Aelin yielded. She glanced up at the female to find her blue-gray eyes watching her. Not in caution, or in any sort of threatened way Aelin expected to be looked at, but in a curiously sad sort of way.

“This is my home.” She started, truth and comfort radiating from her lips, filling the room, and warming Aelin’s bones. “In the city of Velaris.” When Aelin blinked without recognition she continued, “I am High Lady of the Night Court, Feyre Archeron.” She dipped her head, gold-brown waves slipping over a shoulder.

None of what she had said meant anything to her. “My name is Aelin.” She said, giving no other name since she was sure her full titles wouldn’t mean anything here. Not in this world.

“Well, Aelin,” Feyre sighed after taking another sip, “You gave us quite a scare last night. You’re quite the unique individual.” Feyre breathed a laugh, “And coming from me that’s saying a lot.” She winked and sipped again.

Aelin stared into her cup of red-brown tea, and asked with barely a breath to speak, “Is this the after world?” She glanced up at the round belly, the delicate hands that cradled the cup and its saucer. Her face crumpled when she noticed the swirling tattoos on her right hand and forearm. “Am I-” she swallowed the word, the question, unable to face the possibility of it.

“No.” Came the soft reply. Aelin met Feyre’s gaze. It was gentle and kind, but her weakened smile made her seem a bit sad. Even so, Aelin lifted the tea and took a long sip, she might as well be dead. She reached within her to tug on the mating bond, but she couldn’t so much as even find it. That familiar tether, that thing that had drove her to fight and defend for everything that she had, was gone. She wanted to cry. She wanted to burn and cry until there was nothing of her left but ashes. But she couldn’t cry, couldn’t even dredge up enough emotion to feel her sadness wholly. A hitched intake of breath had Aelin locking eyes with Feyre again. 

“I’m sorry.” Feyre started, hiding the tears welling in her eyes with a blink, “It’s not right, I know, but you were going to hurt yourself and others.” Feyre leaned forward to place her teacup on the nightstand; Aelin watched her chew on her lip. “We- I had little choice. And I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t erupt again before I gave it all back at once.” Aelin just stared, the demand simmering in her eyes. But she indeed felt it, and understood, the damper on her mind, on her magic. It felt like a curtain of soft black night, and no matter how much she clawed at it, it would not tear.

“I was tortured for three months, day and night, by a dark queen who revelled in toying with my mind.” Aelin said, her gaze going wholly unnatural, her anger and frustration restrained only by Feyre’s grasp on her mind. “Give. It. Back.” She blinked, and the curtain was gone. Aelin felt the surge of emotion, of memory, crash into her. She saw the dam at Anielle. Saw it crack right down the middle and split into a thousand shards of rock and stone. She heard the roaring of the waves, the shouts of people, running footsteps, hooves, cries, screaming. Screaming. 

“Breathe.”

Aelin gasped. She had been holding her breath, prepared to be swallowed whole by all that water. She felt the curtain drape over her mind, but it was different this time. Instead of depthless black hiding her memories from her it was a panel of sheer gray. One of which she could see through, but not become overwhelmed by. She would allow this curtain. For now.

Aelin opened her eyes and saw her hands, still clutching the teacup, wrapped in bright blue fire. But it wasn’t exactly fire, not the kind she had come so accustomed to. The flames flowed like water as the tendrils of it ebbed and flowed around her fingers and wrists. Aelin took a steadying breath and the fire pulsed in time with the intake, and then the exhale. Her brows pinched inward. The fire she had known had been a reactionary extension of her; she could direct it, and mold it to her will, but this? This fire seemed alive. Aware.

Aelin took another smooth breath in and, sure enough, the blue flame speckled with white light swelled as her chest did. And when she blew out that breath the fire sunk into her skin, like a sponge absorbing liquid.

Her tea was finished in a hefty gulp, “What is it?” her voice solidified on her tongue as she spoke.

Feyre’s eyebrows raised in question, “You don’t know?”

Aelin shook her head, “No. My magic was fire back- back in my other world.” She had almost called it “home”, but had choked on the word.

“You’re truly from another world, then?” Feyre studied her carefully, as if she were searching for something other than the answer to her question.

Aelin simply shrugged, “I suppose so.”

They suffered a short, tentative silence. Feyre’s eyes glanced at the armoire on the other side of the room, contemplative, before standing, “I have a friend who came to us in a similar fashion as you. She is very eager to meet you. If you’re up for it, of course.” 

Aelin’s eyes flared and locked onto Feyre’s. This stanger of a female, this High Lady, as she declared herself, knew someone who had crossed worlds. Was close to someone who crossed worlds. Did she also know how to open a gate? How to create them? Aelin’s eyes stung at the thoughts swarming her mind; Feyre had slipped the dark veil away just enough for her. There was a chance, small if anything, but a chance to go home. If she wasn’t dead, and if the people here knew about Wyrdgates, opening them, and crossing into a different world then…

She could go home.

Feyre nodded towards the armoire, “Whatever is in there,” she said with that honey-sweet smile, “Is yours. We took the liberty of sending the clothes you, hm, landed in to be cleaned.” She explained, resting a hand on her full belly.

Aelin tossed off the blankets and crossed to the armoire who’s doors she practically ripped off their hinges. There was an even mix of shirts, pants, and day gowns all arranged neatly within. The color pallet of varying shades of blues and purples had her mouth twisting to the side, and she glanced over a shoulder at Feyre who was pulling combs and brushes from the vanity drawers. The High Lady’s gown was a gray-purple, cut in a way so it draped elegantly over her protruding stomach. It was simple, but pretty. She turned back to the inside of the armoire.

Aelin pulled out a dark night-blue dress and stepped to the mirror and held it in front of her. She instantly frowned at herself, a pang of guilt twisting in her stomach. She returned the dress to the armoire. 

“How far along are you?” Aelin glanced back at Feyre who was now picking through some hair ornaments.

“Eight months next week.” Feyre said, stroking her tattooed hand over her middle. 

She turned to see Aelin finish tugging on a cream-colored tunic decorated with dark blue embroidery around the cuffs and collar. She had chosen a pair of simple brown pants, and some delicate ivory shoes to go with it. It was far from her typical attire, but, at least, the clothes were comfortable. Feyre gestured to the chair at the vanity, and Aelin obliged. The two sat in silence while Feyre brushed and combed Aelin’s hair. The half-up half-down style was reflective of Aelin’s outfit: simple, yet refined. 

Feyre gave a half grimace to Aelin in the mirror, “My handmaidens have the day off today.” She explained, “Apologies that my handiwork isn’t the best.” 

Aelin couldn’t respond. While the High Lady had worked the sun streaming in through the window had caught in her hair making it shine golden. And even though it wasn’t quite the right shade of gold, Aelin could see her mother in Feyre. Just for a moment. She blinked, and the resemblance was gone. Feyre finished by tucking a golden hairpin, set with a bright blue sapphire, into her hair and stepped away with a pat to Aelin’s shoulder.

Feyre led Aelin down a small hallway towards the staircase. The walls were decorated with various paintings of all different kinds. Several were of brightly colored skyscapes, as if they were painted from the top of a mountain. Others were of gardens, strange-looking people sitting around a dinner table, and wings. So many dark leathery wings filled the frames, just like the ones she heard leave the house earlier. 

Her eyes snagged on a portrait of a golden-haired female, wistful and longing as her golden eyes gazed off into the distance of pine trees and snow, and a bright blue sky. It was as if she were waiting for something. The small brass plaque nailed to the bottom of the frame called the painting “The Morrigan”. Aelin swallowed and stepped back from the painting, the strange familiarity of it, to continue down the hall after Feyre. 

“Do you paint?” Feyre asked as she swayed herself down the steps, leaning heavily onto the railing for support.

“I’m no good.” Aelin replied, and she wasn’t quite sure why she offered it, but she added, “I’m decent with a pianoforte, though.”

“Maybe you can keep the rabble from bickering so much by playing something for us sometime.” The voice that lilted over to them as they made the stair landing set her skin crawling and flecked with gooseflesh. The sleight, dark-haired female barely glanced over her nails as she picked them clean.

Aelin tensed, eyes fully trained on the black hair, the red lips, the all-too familiar scent making its way up her nose. She forced the image of that queen from her mind, and made herself remember that this was a wholly different world. There’s no way she would be here. But her ilk? The kin she tried to keep hidden? They could be here.

“Aelin,” Feyre started, “This is Amren.” She gestured, and Amren stood, bracelets clinking together, a finger toying idly with her long beaded necklace.

Amren’s bright silver eyes flashed and those red lips barely hinted a smile, “Well, well, what an interesting specimen you’ve discovered, Lady Feyre. A daughter of the Wyrdgods.”

“Valg,” The words were slipping from Aelin’s lips before she could stop herself, “You’re Valg.” She clarified and took a step back. 

The red slash of a smile grew on Amren’s face, “How interesting, indeed.”


	3. in which the author has no idea how to write scenes involving food and eating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, hi, hello, it's me. sorry it took me a while to post this update but uuuuhhhhhhhhhh im really into destiny 2 right now so ive been devoting my whole life to space people and robots. also i kinda wrote like 20k for my novel so that's been eating my life up too... anyway... finally starting to get the ball rolling on this. juicy stuff to come soon. or whenever i dont hate myself or my writing enough to actually sit down and write.

She wasn’t prepared. Not for this, not for the dark-haired female standing before her. Her vision flashed, and she was on a beach schucking off her weapons into the sand. She made herself blink, to take a breath. This world was different, she told herself, that queen wasn’t here. This was just a coincidence.

“Aelin?” Feyre was in front of her now, a steady hand on her shoulder. Aelin straightened and faced the female called Amren.

“Why are the Valg here?” Aelin demanded, her heart pounding in her chest.

Amren choked out a laugh, “I am not Valg, girl. However, I find it infinitely curious that you know who they are. And by the scent of your fear I’d wager you know them well.” She slid a hand into a pocket, still toying with the beads of her necklace.

Aelin blinked, her only tell of surprise and confusion. “If you’re not Valg then what are you? Where did you come from?” And how she got here was the underlying question.

“I am not Valg, but I do come from their realm. Or I did, I suppose, before I found myself trapped here.” Amren explained idly. Trapped. Aelin could feel her heart sink a bit at the word. If she was trapped then she might not know how to open a gate at all. “Tell me, girl,” Amren continued, “How does a Daughter of the Wyrdgods make her way to this realm?” Quicksilver eyes pinned Aelin to the spot. And Aelin did not back down from that stare.

“It’s a bit of a long story.” she replied curtly. She wasn’t about to tell her whole life’s story to these people. Even if they were Fae, or otherwise unknown. And especially not to people who could hold her mind, like the pretty-faced one. Aelin could see Feyre flinch at the thought, and the sheer curtain still draped across her mind lifted, yielding the full pain of those she left behind to her own.

Amren shrugged, “You don’t need to tell me. Curious minds tend to wander and seek.” The implication, the insinuation in Amren’s tone had Aelin struggling to hold back a snarl.

“I didn’t come here on purpose.” Aelin had balled her hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

“We’re all well aware of that. My interest lies in the how and the why.”

Aelin sucked in a breath, “Fine.” Amren’s, even Feyre’s, brows flicked up at the sudden concession. “I used some keys to open a gate, forge a lock, and send some gods to their native world. Why? Because those gods have a cruel sense of humor and chose me to carry this out. Happy?” It wasn’t the whole story, but the barest of information to get them off her back. Hopefully. Amren and Feyre exchanged a long glance. Long enough that Aelin suspected they were reading each other’s thoughts.

Amren turned on a heel towards the front door. “I’ll be doing some reading. You’ll know where to find me, High Lady.” She dragged out the last two words in a tease and, with a delicate twirl of her fingers to indicate a wave farewell, Amren was gone. Leaving Feyre and Aelin together in quiet intensity.

“Sorry about her,” Feyre started, finally breaking the silence. Aelin’s turquoise eyes slid to Feyre’s carefully, observant. “She’s usually this standoffish, but she means well enough.” When Aelin did not answer, and only stared at the closed door, Feyre asked, “How could you tell? That she was… other?”

“Her scent.” Aelin said simply. “It’s faded and muddled with something like Fae, but I’d know that smell anywhere.” Feyre considered for a moment. She hadn’t noticed Amren’s scent as one that particularly stood out. Then again, she had not met very many people like Amren to compare to. The two that could compare to Amren in her otherworldliness were dead, and the third… well even Feyre shuddered to consider a visit to the third. At least not any time soon. As for Amren, even after the mending of the cauldron she remained very similar to her old otherworldly self. There were obvious changes, like her eyes settling to a more natural silver-gray, and her necessity to eat normal food now, other than blood. But she was still Amren.

Feyre smoothed the skirts of her dress over her full womb, “Not ‘like’ Fae.” The High Lady said, crossing her way over to the kitchen. “She gave up her other form to save us in the last war.” Feyre pushed open the door and hovered in the threshold, “And in exchange she was able to stay with us. As a High Fae.” She gestured, inviting Aelin into the kitchen. 

Aelin chewed on the words, carefully turning them over in her mind. She sat in a chair placed at the marble-top island still unable to find any words. The kitchen was spacious, but modest. Cream walls with whitewashed cabinets and drawers, and a cooling box tucked neatly underneath one of the counters which Feyre leaned to open and retrieve a hunk of meat from within.

With her chin resting in her palm, a finger idly tracing a brown vein in the marble, Aelin asked, “So what’s a High Lady?” Feyre turned from the counter to place a small platter of chilled herb pork slices, cheese cubes, and a bunch of grapes. Two metal food-picks skewered the meat. Feyre, still considering, sat across from Aelin's fingers delicately tapping the marble surface.

“We’re like rulers,” she said tugging the pick from the meat and choosing a cube of white cheese to pop into her mouth. “We guard and maintain our lands in exchange for protecting the people that reside here.”

“We?” Aelin chewed on some of the pork, the delicate herbs filling her senses. As she chewed the air behind Feyre rippled, and bent, and suddenly there was a male figure reaching over Feyre’s shoulder to pluck up a slice of meat. Aelin stood so fast she knocked her chair over, strange blue flames swirling up her arms in response.

“Yes, we.” The male’s violet-blue eyes glittered like starlight in the afternoon sun.

“Rhysand.” Feyre hissed through gritted teeth. “You were supposed to stay away.”

“I missed you.” The male named Rhysand lifted Feyre’s chin and placed a gentle kiss to her lips. Aelin could barely look at them, barely stomach the sight of their intimacy. Her chest ached and she resisted the urge to want to curl up and cry in front of them.

“The hell was that?” Aelin demanded instead.

Rhysand plucked up a grape, popping it into his mouth, “It’s called winnowing. It’s like moving from one spot to another without physically traveling the space between.” Aelin couldn’t help the quiver of her chin as the image of a golden wolf flashed into her mind. It didn’t look exactly like Fenrys’ power, but it was similar enough in description. Aelin bent to right her fallen chair, to give her a chance to blink away the tears she felt pooling in her eyes. 

“So,” Rhys continued, “Has my lovely wife filled you in yet?”

Feyre gave him a small whack on the shoulder, “You know I haven’t gotten there yet. Stop teasing her.”

His grin was wide, “I would never!” Rhys said seating himself across from Aelin.

“Filled me in on what?” Aelin’s gaze fixed on Rhys’, turquoise boring into violet.

Rhys’ expression softened a bit, “I don’t want to get your hopes up,” he began, never breaking their stare. “But I assume that by your general displeasure in being here,” he waved a hand to vaguely indicate not just the house, “you’d like very much to go home.” Aelin wasn’t sure she was breathing. Was he being serious? Did he truly know how to send her home? She nodded slowly, waiting for the catch. “Personally I do not know how to accomplish such a thing, however, I do have a library. Many of the books in there date back to the creation of this land, or near to it, at least. You are free to access anything you like in there, and I will offer any help I can when it is available.”

Aelin’s heart had sunk, but only slightly. Her mind was electrified with thoughts and questions, “I want to go now.” It was all she could manage to say. If these people had a library that was as ancient as he claimed, she could go home. She only hoped she could figure out how soon. So much could happen in a few short days for her people back home. So she had to work fast, she had to-

“I have one condition.” The catch. Aelin’s jaw tightened, her eyes flaring. “Nothing major. I just want to know more about that Starfire of yours.”

“I don’t know what it is.” Aelin tried hold back the snap in her voice. She had enough of magic training to last her a thousand lifetimes.

Rhys shrugged, “In my severely long life I have never seen a power like it. I’d like to explore it with you.” He tossed a cube of pork in the air and caught it in his mouth.

Feyre scoffed and rolled her eyes muttering, “You’re as bad as Cassian.”

“Oh, and you’ll practice shielding with Feyre. I don’t care when you do it, just do it.” Rhys plucked a handful of grapes and stood, circling to the other side of Feyre.

“Shielding? Shielding what?” Aelin tracked him carefully, her eyes narrowed.

Feyre answered instead, “In this world there are beings known as Daemati. They can penetrate a person’s mind without them knowing and manipulate it how they please. Shielding is a way to keep your mind protected from Daemati who would mean you harm.”

Aelin’s skin crawled. Fake memory after fake memory flashed inside her mind alongside the beautifully devious face of the dark queen. But, Aelin’s eyes shifted between Feyre and Rhys and back again. “Both of you are this Daemati?” 

Rhys had found his final grape to be rather interesting, but Feyre held her gaze, and nodded, “Yes. And we’re sorry for holding you mind the way we did. You were just,” Feyre gave a sheepish grin, “A bit on fire. And your nightmares were keeping you from resting. We were only trying to help.” Her hands were placating over the marble.

Aelin sucked in a breath, “Why? Why help me?”

“My wife’s bored and needs a project.” Rhys drawled flatly. Feyre didn’t hold back her not-so-playful punch to his shoulder. “Of course I’m kidding.” Rhys rubbed at the spot. “But it’s kinda what we do. Since Prythian has been relatively peaceful in the last century or so we’ve taken to helping those in need. It’s my duty as High Lord of the Night Court.” He tugged and straightened the lapels of his tunic, and Aelin had to look away again.

“That’s it then?” Aelin said after a short thoughtful silence. “You’ll let me have access to your library if I show off my magic and learn how to shield?”

Rhys and Aelin held each other's gazes, “That’s it.”

“Fine.” Aelin reached her left hand and skewered a cube of pork, “Deal.” As she lifted the pick to her mouth Aelin felt it. A small tang of magic, and a twitch along her skin. Aelin dropped the pork to the table and watched, hand shaking, as darkest blue whirls and swirls of ink appeared along her wrist and up her forearm.

A tattoo.


	4. if i name this chapter foreshadowing is that clever or dumb?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, hi, its been a month and this chapter is short but im still here writing at ungodly hours of the morning because i have absolutely no control of my life. anyway hey guys. how was your holidays? i hope it was good cuz mine sucked. im hoping to try and get into some sort or rhythm with these uploads but writing is hard and i am very bad at it. hope yall like this chapter cuz i started writing at 4am and now its 6am and i have work in and hour. no i dont sleep is that normal?
> 
> ps: sjm was super vague about morrigan's powers so *waves hand also vaguely* here's whatever this is lol

“She wrecked the whole kitchen before he could contain her power. Apparently she would have taken down the whole house had he not been there.”

Cassian and Morrigan were lounging, on one of the House of Wind’s many balconies. They had been hold up in the House most of the day while Feyre and Rhys talked with the stranger. It was still early for them to be drinking, but after Azriel came bearing news about the stranger’s outburst the two of them decided that opening a bottle was only for the best. Morrigan sat with a leg dangling lazily over one of the arms of her chair, Cassian leaned back pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Rhys insists that she’s not a threat.”

“Of course he does.” Morrigan drained the last of her glass before holding it out to Cassian who promptly filled it up.

“Az said that her powers are volatile and erratic. It’s almost like when Feyre first got her gifts, like she has no control over them.” Cassian explained as he filled up his glass again. 

Morrigan didn’t respond. She only swirled the red liquid, and took a sip. Morrigan didn’t know what to make of any of this. It was strangely reminiscent of when Feyre finally turned away from Tamlin, and came to live with them, except the gift of choice was not there for this stranger. Morrigan sighed and ran her fingers through her golden locks. She wasn’t sure what to make of the stranger; she was nervous, sure, but she wondered if Rhys and Feyre’s interest in her would prove to be worth it all in the end. What would the end even bring? Was the end even achievable? Opening doors and breaking locks to other worlds? Morrigan drank a long sip from her glass; the whole concept seemed beyond her. Not impossible, of course Amren had been able to cross worlds, but not without the help of her father who - as far as Amren had led on - was vastly more powerful than she use to be. Morrigan groaned and scrubbed her face with her free hand.

“What are you thinking?” Cassian asked.

“That this is far more complicated than we think. That having someone with an unknown and unpredictable power anywhere in Velaris is a bad idea. That as much as we should do anything in our collective powers to send her back home I doubt we have any idea where to start, let alone the ability to see it through.” Morrigan drained her glass again. She hated how pessimistic she was being, but she couldn’t help speaking her mind. Not when it concerned her family and her home.

The door behind them opened then, and a disheveled and weary looking Rhys entered. “That’s why I made a deal with her.” He said picking up the bottle of wine and taking a swig.

“You what?” Cassian demanded. A corner of Morrigan’s lips twitched, of course he did.

“Is that why she trashed the townhouse?”

Rhys chuckled bitterly, “It was the tattoo.” He took another swig.

“She nearly brought the house down over a tattoo?” Morrigan barely caught Rhys’ wings tighten awkwardly at Cassian’s remark.

“She did, indeed.” Rhys crossed to the railing of the balcony, leaning his back against it, the bottle dangling delicately in his fingers. Morrigan watched him carefully, searching for the words he kept from telling them, unsure if it were wise to pry them from him.

“Is she dangerous?” Morrigan finally asked. Cassian stiffened, but Rhys held her gaze firmly.

He let his eyes drop first, “She could be, but she doesn’t want to be. At least not to us.” Rhys contemplated the bottle for a moment, turning it over in his hands. His eyes darkened, “She has a complicated past, and an even more complicated present.” He said, his voice like midnight, “And with each moment she spends here the duties she has to fulfill in her home world are seemingly less and less achievable.”

Morrigan knew the dark look in Rhys’ eyes. Knew the even darker memories that roiled within him. She could sense the truth in his want to help this stranger just as well as she could sense a sort of kinship Rhys was feeling for her. Morrigan wondered how similar his and the stranger’s pasts were.

Cassian’s sigh broke through her thoughts, “So what was the deal?”

Rhys’s mouth twitched upwards, “Training.” Cassian chuckled finally finishing off his glass of wine. “How else are we going learn about this Starfire of hers?”

Cassian waved a hand at him, “And what does she get out of it?”

Rhys drank from the bottle, “Full access to the library, along with any and all resources she may need to get back home.”

“Mother and cauldron, Rhys.” Morrigan rubbed at a temple.

Rhys raised an eyebrow at her, “You don’t approve?”

“We know nothing about her! At best we know she has a hot temper and a destructive power she can’t seem to control. And you’re going to give her the run of the library?” Heat flushed her cheeks; she knew she was being unfair, knew better than to mistrust Rhys like this. Maybe it was the wine that made her so bold, but she added, “Feyre is pregnant with your child, Rhysand. Do we really want to be bringing in unpredictable strangers and allow them free rein of our city?”

Morrigan waited for the twitch of a snarl on his lips, for the crease of frustration along his brow, but nothing came. Instead, Rhys replaced the bottle of wine on the table between them and headed for the door. 

“Rhys-” Morrigan stood.

“Thank you for your counsel. I’ll be sure to keep it in mind when I let this vicious beast loose in the city.” Rhys didn’t so much as glance back at the two of them as he exited, shutting the door with a force more than necessary.

“Counsel!” Morrigan huffed exasperatedly. She slumped back into her chair, fully aware of Cassian’s eyes watching her. “Counsel.” She said again with a snarl of a breath as she filled her glass, finishing off the bottle.

“What’s with you?” Cassian asked when they finally caught eyes.

“Boil me, I don’t know.” She mumbled into her glass. Cassian just stared at her. Morrigan sighed, “I don’t know.” She repeated, “It’s just a feeling I have.”

“Is it a bad one?”

Her eyes fell, the knot in her stomach had been tight ever since Starfall. It tugged and tightened inside her, and she felt guilty for reacting so strongly, but she knew better than to ignore her instincts. “Not bad, just uncomfortable.” She had explained her truth to him already; the unpredictability of the stranger put Morrigan on edge. But there was something else there too. It felt like a looming door that suddenly appeared in her mind made of darkest iron. She didn’t know what to make of this feeling other than to stay far, far away from it.

Cassian stood and stretched, his wings fanned out briefly before her tucked them in once more. “Come on,” He said. He held out a hand, which she took.

“Where are we going?”

He waved the empty wine bottle at her. “The wine cellar. Dinner is soon and by the looks of things, we’re all going to need a personal bottle.”

Morrigan hesitated, making Cassian turn back to her. She finished off her glass and placed it on the table next to his. “I think I’ll pass. I’m not very hungry anyway.”

Cassian seemed to be taken aback by her words, “You sure?” Morrigan nodded. “Alright. I’ll let one of the wraiths know to bring a plate to your room.” She nodded again and Cassian left her alone and drinkless on the balcony.

Maybe she was too harsh. Maybe she wasn’t putting enough faith in Rhys to know what he was dealing with. A hand clutched at her chest, willing the knots and tight feelings to loosen. She peered within herself, searching for an answer to these unsettling feelings, but she only saw that dark iron door. She didn’t have to try the handle to know it was locked. She didn’t have to lean her ear to it to know that many dangers lay beyond. So she looked at her hands and recoiled, because in her hands she held a key. A key made of blackest stone.


	5. butterfly in the sky~~ i can go twice as high~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy cow another update? and so soon? its literally because everyone who's commenting nice things about this fic are fueling my creative energies. i love you all. this is a dumpster fire and yall are too heckin nice. also im low-key sorry about last chapter cuz i know it kinda sucked. anyway here's this angsty update. next chapter i'll get into what 'starfire' is, or at least what my take on it is. (note to self: figure out what 'starfire' is). anyway i hope you enjoy~
> 
> PS - ive written some even more angsty scenes that are for later chapters, and i think??? i figured out what the climax is gonna be but like we just gotta like,,,,, get there. ive got so much shit planned, and this fic is turning out to be a lot longer than i initially anticipated. at least in like my note document it is. laskflsk idk i have no self control when i comes to fanfiction but have absolutely no functioning brain cells when it comes to writing my own novel. amazing.

The following day Aelin was sitting in one of the tucked away crevices of the library, books were piled up and splayed out over every available surface, and organized in a chaotic system that only she could really navigate. The High Lady Feyre led her through the city of Velaris early in the morning; Aelin took the time to map the route from the townhouse to the library in her head, as well as note any other possible routes. The city was much different from Rifthold, most of the streets wound and curved in a way that told her they were built as an afterthought. There was a faded line in some of the streets indicating older stone butting up against newer stone. The buildings, although very similar in style with their vibrant red and rich brown stone, all had unique characteristics about them, as if they were build for a purpose rather than to fill up space, and the farther from the center of the city they got the newer those buildings got.

Aelin wondered about the ages of the High Lady and her High Lord, and then Aelin’s mind wandered to the creature they called Amren and how old she was. She figured Amren was easily as ancient as this land was, possibly older if she had come from another world. But with Amren in mind Aelin formulated a plan on gathering research about getting back home.

With a leg slung over one of the arms of the chair Aelin devoured book after book after book. She started with the history of this world, learned about how Prythian was created, about the Cauldron, about the Great War between humans and Faeries, and about the construction of the wall that cut off humans from the rest of Prythian. She had gotten chills when she realized how similar Prythian’s Wall and the anti-magic barrier of Adarlan were. 

As she closed the book she was skimming through a third time Aelin’s stomach growled and clenched with hunger. A clock on the wall noted that it was well past lunch, and she wondered of she had been forgotten down here. When Feyre left her down here she had said that they would practice whatever this shielding exercise was during lunch. But Feyre was slow moving with her swollen belly, and Aelin figured she should meet the female at the library's entrance. But after waiting another quarter hour Feyre was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Clotho, the Faerie librarian who has brought Aelin an extra stack of papers to take notes on.

A chill snaked up Aelin's spine as the memories of another library in another world surfaced in her mind. The memories of a deformed and possessed creature that lived in the tunnels underneath that library. She pushed off the desk she had expected Clotho to be and crossed to the bannister and peered over it's edge. Aelin swallowed; she was told that the library was big, but she didn't realize that it was so big that it fell into complete darkness. She squinted and sniffed at the air wafting from below, and that chill brought gooseflesh prickling at her arms. Something was down there, and by the strange must that carried up toward her she could tell that it was something very old and very powerful.

Aelin rocked back on her heels, a headache pulsing softly at her temple. This place? This world? It had its own demons and creatures of the dark, but with powerful Lords and Ladies of a court named for the dark of Night, with magic that could control a person’s mind, Aelin wasn't sure who deserved more of her wariness. It had only been a day, but it felt like an eternity had passed since she last saw her friends. Her family. Tears stung at her eyes, but Aelin gripped the bannister railing, digging her nails into the old wood. She couldn’t afford to be sad, she didn’t have time to be sad. She would study and research and hunt down any bit of information, any ancient relic this world had to offer so she could go back. Back to those fighting for her. Back to her kingdom. Back to her Prince.

She’d seem them again. She’d see them all again.

Footsteps echoed from the library’s entrance, snapping Aelin from her thoughts. One she recognized as Feyre’s wobbling gait, the other she was unsure about. The footfalls were light, but assured, similar to how an assassin would walk. How she would walk. Aelin waited until their steps and soft chatter were reasonably noticeable before she turned to meet them.

The male accompanying Feyre was as tall as a Fae male should be, but his features were vastly different. They were just as sharp, the angles of his face were squarer, his ears were rounded like a human’s. Most of all he carried a set of large bat-like wings which towered over the two of them. Aelin felt a knot of fear in her chest at the sight of his wings, at the thought of more Valg being here, but his eyes and expression were neutrally pleasant.

“Oh, Aelin,” Feyre sighed with a warm smile, “I’m sorry we’re late, you must be starving.” She gestured to the male beside her. He held up the basket in his arms. It was covered in a cloth, but Aelin could smell the bread beneath.

“I held the High Lord and Lady up, please forgive me.” The male said bowing his head slightly.

Feyre sighed again, “This is Azriel. He’ll will get dirty in a fight and apologize for it.” She leveled a teasing smirk at him. Azriel’s hazel eyes fell, but Aelin still caught the sheepish grin pricking the corners of his mouth.

Azriel passed the basket of food into Aelin’s hands and turned to Feyre. “Rhys wanted me back. I should be going.” He turned to nod at Aelin once more. “Again, sorry for being late.”

Aelin was already picking through the basket. She smiled at him and returned the nod, “I’ve survived longer with less.” Azriel bowed more deeply to Feyre and left the two alone. They headed for Aelin’s little nook a few levels down where they would have her shielding lesson. Aelin was halfway through the loaf of bread when she wondered if she should offer any to Feyre. “Have you eaten?”

The High Lady nodded and slumped into a chair, stretching out her legs and rotating her ankles. “So,” Feyre began with a glance at the towering piles of books Aelin had collected in the morning. “You haven’t read all of those, have you.”

Aelin shrugged, “Not all the way through. Just the parts that have the most information.” She pulled a second chair up so it was across from Feyre, and set the basket on the floor beside her.

Feyre pulled her gaze from the stacks of books to meet Aelin’s bright, curiously determined eyes. “Shielding,” she started, “is a way to block out Daemati such as myself or Rhysand. It’s a mental barrier to keep out those who mean you harm.” Feyre paused for a moment; Aelin noted the way she toyed with the edges of her soft blue dress. “I understand how sensitive you are to having your mind invaded.” Aelin watched her speak the words carefully, precisely. “There are ways of helping you learn how to build the walls in your mind, but for that it requires a bit of assistance,” she paused again, “from within your mind.” Blue-gray eyes locked with burning turquoise.

“Do it.”

Feyre blinked. “The kind of assistance is illusory in nature, it will not harm you, but it will seem very real.”

It was Aelin’s turn to hesitate. For a moment she worried if this were some kind of trick. Feyre was nervous, clearly, but for what? Was the High Lady worried that she would figure out her scheme to take over her mind? Aelin clenched her eyes shut. She couldn’t afford to be mistrusting anyone. She didn’t have the time. If these shielding exercises would help her in the long run she had to give them a try.

“Do it.” She said again more adamantly this time. And then Aelin felt that dark tendril of power reaching out to her, penetrating her mind. 

And then Feyre’s voice echoed softly inside her mind as Aelin watch her sitting motionless in the chair across from her. “A shield, a wall, a barrier. Whatever you find easiest to conjure.” Aelin saw Feyre standing next to her in the dark, fiery space of her mind. Feyre waved a hand and a sturdy brick wall grew up from the craggy floor. “Make another one next to mine.” Feyre instructed. Aelin focused on the spot next to Feyre’s brick wall. She pictured a single red brick, and then another, and another until she had a single row of bricks all lined up on the floor. Feyre nodded and urged her to continue. 

It took an agonizingly long time, but Aelin was eventually able to build that brick wall inside her mind. “It’s a start.” Feyre proclaimed, and pointed out the time. Aelin stood with a start. They had been there for nearly two hours. A pang of panic rushed through her as she realized how much time everything was going to take. Between researching, practicing shielding, and doing whatever the High Lord considered training was, days could easily turn into weeks, or longer.

Feyre turned to leave. “I’ll meet you here tomorrow at the same time. Rhys has been prepping a place for you two to train, but it’ll take another couple days or so before it’s ready. In the meantime you’re welcome to visit the library ” Some of the panic eased in Aelin’s chest; at least she would have more time to dedicate to scouring this ancient library. She inhaled deeply, willing her heart from erupting from her chest. But it was still such a long time from now. 

“Remember to practise building your shields. I’ll be testing you tomorrow.” But Feyre’s farewell was barely heard. 

Aelin had already swiped up another book and cracked it open with a newfound determination. She couldn’t waste any time. She didn’t have any to begin with. A sickening dread washed over her as she wondered what she might be going back to. A lost war? A war still being waged with defeat looming over them all? Or perhaps her friends figured out a way to stop the Valg conquerors. Or perhaps they didn’t and her mere absence had doomed them all. She slapped the book in front of her down onto a pile and scribbled down a note as she reached for the next book. 

No. She wouldn’t allow it. She would continue to read, to shield, to train, and do whatever other task these people asked of her as long as it brought her one step closer to home. She would do it day after day until she was there on that battlefield fighting for the home she dreamt of for so long. No matter what, no matter the cost. The gods knew she had already paid her dues. And, as always, she found herself whispering the words that had kept her strong for over a decade. The words that would always keep her going.

“My name is Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, and I will not be afraid.”


	6. did i even have a method for naming chapters or was i just high every time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh? what's this? im back from the dead and posting a new chapter? can it be true??? it is. i just looked at the clock and it say 4:20am /dab. so like, i moved again. uhh what else happened since my last update? pffttt idfk yall. anyway there might be another another update soon after this. but i gotta check my outline and tweak some stuff. anyway bls enjoy, or don't, but i hope you do. im so tired.

Their bodies were faded, rippling like reflections on water. Neither of them had known how long it would take, but any length of time not knowing what might happen next was too long. The Prince knelt before the circle, his fingers tracing meticulously drawn lines in the dirt. He glanced to The Captain who was a small distance away. He was pacing, one hand scrubbing a the stubble on his chin, the other loyally gripping the sword at his waist. Their eyes met, and The Prince swallowed, a muscle flickering in his jaw.

“They’ll be alright.” He said, not sure if the small wavering in his voice was noticeable to human ears.

If it was The Captain didn’t make any mention of it. He only nodded and went back to his pacing. This was agonizing. The Prince took another steadying breath, letting the morning air fill his lungs and cool his nerves. He closed his eyes, and muttered one final prayer to Mala.

“Rowan.”

The Prince's head snapped up. One of the figures inside the circle was getting brighter. But it wasn't hers. He felt bad for it, but his heart sank a bit. Of course it would be The King first. 

Dorian Haviliard gasped and stumbled backwards from the center. Chaol was there to catch him, and steady his balance. He was pale, and took many gulping breaths.

"She-" Dorian tried, but couldn't seem to get the words out. Rowan glanced back at the circle where Aelin's faded form remained. 

"She's going to let the gate close." Dorian blurted, still breathless.

Rowan could feel his heart begin to race, but he willed himself to keep his composure. "She's still in there." He said smoothly, "I can feel her." 

Dorian staggered on his feet, “You don’t understand,” he insisted, “We have to do something! She’s going to let herself get killed!” He flung a finger at Aelin’s rippling form, “The door, that lock? It was draining both of us whole.”

Rowan saw that Dorian’s eyes were blazing with icy panic, but he had to trust Aelin. But even if she was trapped in there, wherever it was, he had no idea how to get her back. The keys were gone. His knowledge of wyrdmarks was limited to what little Aelin had taught him. The only hope left was trust, and even that was wavering. 

Rowan blew out a breath he barely knew he was holding, “Just give her time. Give her a minute.”

“Don’t you get it?” Dorian snapped, baring his teeth, not caring at all that Rowan was not only Fae, but much older and stronger too. “That thing didn’t care that there were two of us! It was going to take everything! We have to stop her!”

Rowan had to believe that Aelin had some kind of trick up her sleeve. Had to believe that she wouldn’t let the gate close him off to her for good. His jaw was clenched so tight he thought he might break a tooth. But he still said, “She knows what she’s doing.” His stomach twisted even as he said it. Even as he glanced at Aelin’s form barely flickering in the dewy light of morning.

“It’s going to take her!” Dorian surged, but Chaol held him back. The Captain muttered weak words of reassurance that Dorian wouldn’t hear.

“She’ll be alright.” Rowan muttered mostly to himself. But the words were cold on his lips, and seemed to sink right to the ground. His heart raced so fast he could hear it in his ears. He clenched a fist to his chest, his knuckles white.

The severing of the bond was not clean. It did not snap, or slowly fade as did her form. It was a tortuously slow tear. As if his skin were being peeled from his bones, layer by layer. But as he stood and watched her form fade from view, he felt her very existence fade from him as well. His ears rang with the roar that burst from deep inside his throat. He waited too long. He watched her go, and did nothing about it. Confusion and disbelief hardly scratched the surface. He had failed her.

His roars of anguish were hollow and deep, just like the void that was left in his heart.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Aelin woke with a start at the sound of the front door opening and shutting. There were muffled voices and shuffling feet; by the sound of it there had to be three people. One pair of feet shuffled their way up the stairs, teetering with imbalance. 

That was definitely Feyre. 

She smiled to herself and glanced to the window. Gray light filtered in, the sun not even risen yet. God's, how early was it? Aelin scrubbed at her face and moaned softly. She felt so tired, and wanted nothing more than to crawl back under the covers and sleep another hour. 

Aelin blinked. A twinge of guilt gripped her stomach as she sat up more straight. She was getting comfortable here. She could have beat herself up over that. It had only been a couple days and she was already adjusting. Stupid. She was so stupid to have let herself even start to feel like this. 

There was a small knock at her door, as Feyre announced her presence. 

"Come in." Aelin called in sleepy monotone. 

The High Lady entered with a bundle of clothes in her arms. Not clothes, Aelin realized as Feyre tossed the small pile to the bed. 

"Illyrian leathers," Feyre called them.

Aelin raised a brow, "I thought this was only training. Should I be worried about hurting anyone?" 

Feyre drummed her fingers atop her belly, "Maybe not, but you'll be in the mountains today and it'll be cold up there. The leathers are insulated." 

Aelin hesitated as she ran her fingers over the designs of the dark clothes. "We'll be winnowing there, I suppose." 

Feyre hummed her response and flipped open the top of the trunk at the foot of the bed. "There’s no other way. Unless you think you'd enjoy a three day trip through the snow." She pulled out a pair of boots and plopped them on the bed as well. 

Aelin smiled weakly. She had insisted they walk through the city to the library instead of winnowing there. She wasn't sure what the familiar feeling of moving instantaneously through space might do to her. But now she had no choice. So she crawled out of the bed, planted her feet on the cool wooden floor, and began to change. 

Downstairs two figures greeted them. Another large winged man Feyre introduced as Cassian. He grinned almost unabashedly at Aelin. She nodded at him, still wary of the wings. 

And Rhys, who emerged from the kitchen with a plate of bacon and fruit. “The leathers look good on you!” He proclaimed, his wing flexing over his shoulders. He passed the plate over to Cassian who unhesitantly scarfed down several slices of bacon.

Aelin swallowed and eyed Feyre cautiously, “Do all of you have wings?” Rhys and Feyre exchanged a communicative glace.

“Everyone except Amren and Morrigan.” Feyre explained and gestured to her shoulders. “Rhys and I can hide ours.”

“Something wrong with our wings?” Cassian asked through a mouthful of food.

“No,” She said, and immediately regretted the curtness in her voice. Even though the wasn’t really anything wrong with their wings, she couldn’t help attributing them to the ilken creatures. But these people weren’t evil, they weren’t ilken. They were trying to help her, and if that meant doing some ridiculous training with them, she’d comply. She’d comply to anything they wanted so long as she continued to be allowed the chance to find a way home. Cassian shrugged and stepped forward with the plate outstretched. Aelin had lowered her gaze apologetically, but swiped a few slices of bacon off the plate.

“Well if there’s nothing left to do we should be on our way.” Rhys announced. He leaned down to place a soft kiss on Feyre’s cheek, two which Aelin found her bacon far more interesting.

“How long will you gone today?” Feyre asked, adjusting the lapels of Rhy’s tunic. 

The High Lord eyed Aelin with a slash of a smile, “That, my dear, is entirely up to your charge.” Aelin leveled a look of suspicion at him. “Mor and Az should be back from the camps later today,” he said crossing over to where Cassian and Aelin stood, standing between them, “have them bring us some lunch.” He winked, but Aelin caught the barest hint of Feyre’s eyes rolling before the world shifted and blurred and the three of them were whisked away in a ripple of air.

Winnowing wasn’t as bad for Aelin as she thought it would be. It wasn’t was she expected, but it was definitely different from Fenrys’ magic. Fenrys seemed to jump instantaneously, disappearing and reappearing in the spot he chose. With winnowing the world seemed to bend and fold, like suddenly the world was a book and they were just flipping to the right page. Her stomach felt like it coiled in on itself when they appeared at the training location, and Cassian held a hand on her back to steady her.

“Where are we?” Aelin asked, still wobbling on her feet slightly. The place she had been taken was definitely in the mountains. The air was thin, the ground was hard and cold. Small structures were standing around them, scattered and rudimentary, but very clearly abandoned if not long since unused.

“This used to be one of the Illyrian war camps,” Rhys explained. “There are several, but this one fell out of service when it was integrated with one of the larger camps. Since no one has a reason to come here anymore it’ll work for a training ground for you.”

Aelin took in the surroundings as Rhys led them through. The old camp was barely a flat strip of land in the slope of a towering mountain. Since they weren’t high enough to hit the treeline pine trees still lined the distant slopes of the snow capped mountains. It was so quiet here, contemplative. Had it not been for the old structures it would have been hard to picture this as the location for a war camp. It reminded Aelin of that painting in the hallway she passed each morning.

“So what would you have me do?” Aelin asked as they reached a more open part of the camp. In the last couple of days that she spent in Velaris she hadn’t even thought to try and summon this new gift Rhys called Starfire. Except, of course, for the time she accidently exploded in the kitchen. Her power was certainly destructive and, much like her normal fire, linked to her emotions.

Cassian took a spot off to one side of them; he adjusted the straps on his glove and Aelin caught something red glittering on the back of the hand.

“For starters,” Rhys began, “Why not try summoning those glittery flames of yours?” Aelin peered inside herself looking for that familiar well of power where her fire normally resided.

It was empty.

She had expected the well to be filled with this strange new power of her. She expected that this Starfire was just and alteration of her fire, that it changed because she was in a new world. She wasn’t expecting it to be completely and utterly gone. Didn’t Mala give her a kernel of power? A small seed of fire before she locked the Wyrdgods in their native world? Sure, she hadn’t had time to dive into herself and draw the magic up like she usually did, but that wouldn’t cause it to disappear. She always had access to some magic. So where what it now? Fear gripped at her throat, made her skin prickle and hair stand on end.

“Aelin?” Rhys and Cassian were staring at her, no doubt scenting the fear on her.

“It’s not there.” Rhys cocked his head in question. “My well is empty.” Aelin clarified, “There’s nothing there.”

Rhys and Cassian exchanged a glance, “Your well?” Rhys asked. Cassian crossed his arms.

“My well of power. The thing inside me I use to draw out my magic?”  
Rhys smiled slightly, “My magic usually manifests as threads of energy.” Cassian nodded in agreement. “Try looking for a thread instead of a well?” Aelin blinked, unsure of where to start.

“Like a spool of string, or a skein of yarn.” Cassian suggested with a vague gesturing of his hands which, Aelin assumed, were meant to look like spools of string.

Aelin inhaled deeply and tried to picture something like a spool with her magic wound up into it and a single tether slowly unraveling itself before her. The tether had the same soft blue glow as the Starfire she summoned twice now. Aelin reached up to meet the thread of power and it pulsed brighter as her hands grew close. With barely a thought the strand curled around her fingers, and then her hand, and coiled up to her shoulder. The thread severed leaving her right arm ablaze with this strange blue flame. Aelin reached up with the other hand and let the thread coil its up that arm as well. 

When she exhaled and opened her eyes her arms were wreathed in the blue flames, speckled with tiny white lights. She looked up to see Rhys’ eyes practically sparkling; with what she wasn’t sure.

“What’s it feel like?” Cassian asked, arms crossed again.

Aelin considered a moment. She held up her arms and made a few swings through the air. “It’s strange,” She watched as the flames flicked soundlessly as she slashed her arms about. “It’s not hot, and it’s not cold. It mostly feels like just a weight on my arms. Like I put on an extra layer of clothes.” Just because she was curious Aelin angled herself away from the other two and lowered herself into a fighting stance. She imagined some kind of enemy in front of her and balled her hand into a fist, rearing it back, and launching a punch into the air.

A blast of Starfire erupted from Aelin’s fist in a ball of swirling blue energy. The ball of energy flew off into the distance, a far longer distance than any of them had expected it to go. It exploded into the side of the hill with a spray of snow leaving a small crater of dirt in it wake. Cassian made an impressed whistle. Aelin turned with a sheepish curve on her lips.

“Well the good news is we won’t have to train you to fight.” Rhys said with an impressed raised of his brow. “But you need to learn control of your power.”

Aelin’s ears flushed, and a knot formed in her throat. She’d heard similar phrases countless times from Rowan while training in Mistward. She glanced back to the crater she’d made in the distance. “I can’t afford a lot of time.” She admitted.

“Then I suppose your mastery of Starfire is completely up to you.” Rhys said, sliding a hand into a pocket. “We can teach you to shield, we can assist you in finding a way home, but your gift is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I have no idea what the right way to teach you is other than through experimentation.” He gestured to the crater in the distance. “We’ve learned that much more about Starfire through one demonstration. And we’ll continue to learn until you’ve mastered it.” Rhys was right. Aelin’s understanding of Starfire, her control over it, would be all on her. She was going to have to push herself as hard as possible if she didn’t want to waste any time.

“Every morning, then.” Aelin said, “I want to train every morning until lunch, and then spend the rest of the day researching up until we’ve figured out a way for me to get home.”

Rhys leveled a questioning glance at Cassian, who only shrugged. “Barring any prior obligations we might have, that is doable.” Rhys' flashed a smile that made his canines gleam, “I still have a court to run.” Rhys patted Cassian on the shoulder, “In the meantime, try not to kill each other.”

Cassian’s mood seemed to lift instantly as he stepped forward. His wings flexed, and a red mist seemed to encase his right glove. “Don’t worry,” he said with a grin made of confidence, “I’ll go easy on you.”

Aelin lowered herself into a defensive stance, the Starfire wreathed around her arms flaring in anticipation. A slash of a defiant grin parted her lips, “I won’t.”


	7. sometimes you just gotta take the foreshadowing and fiRMLY GRASP IT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't really have much to say except i might take another slightly extended break to plot and such. im kinda caught up in my outline so ive gotta trap myself in the thinking room for a bit. also for those of you who really want to see that aelin/cassian fight: don't worry, that'll definitely be in the next chapter. ;^]

Morrigan was impressed. She hated the camps, hated the attitudes of the traditionalists, and the nearly underhanded way she was treated whenever she came here, but, nevertheless, she was impressed. Rhys and Cassian had spent the last century slowly integrating the female Illyrians with the male camps. It was a grueling process, many of the males and male captains tried revolting, but Rhys wouldn't have it. 

He had known that showing off his power would only label him as something like a tyrant among the Illyrians. So, instead, he pushed the females' training harder than ever. In the beginning there were only a handful of male captains that supported the females being trained. So Rhys took them to the separate camps to personally oversee their training. It was secret for the first decade or so, and when word spread that some females were being trained separately the males were up in arms about special treatment. 

It wasn't until the second decade that a band of Illyrian rebels tried to infiltrate the camps. But the freshly trained female warriors were ready. The skirmish was brief. There were no casualties save for scarring cuts, and broken bones that could easily be mended. But it was very quickly common knowledge that the female Illyrians had bested their male counterparts.

The integration moved in haste after that.

Rhys had implemented a kind of yearly tournament in recognition of the skirmish. A series of games and trials the Illyrians would go through to test their skills and show off their talents. Some games were individual, like spear throwing or archery. Others were team-based, like the night hunt. At first the games were a way to encourage competition among the males and females without having them be on edge or at each other's throats. It served as a distraction and turned into the best form of training the Illyrians had ever seen. Over the passing century male and female Illyrians tried and trained to become the best versions of themselves. And now they even helped each other now that they were focused on scores rather than lives. 

Morrigan hadn’t been to the camps in years, and the progress made was thoroughly impressive. Some traditionalist ideals had still stuck - the males and females were still segregated through lodging and eating arrangements. And Morrigan figured that was probably for the best considering she had seen first hand what and Illyrian male could do if one got in the way of their food. She smiled at that thought, stealing a glance in Azriel’s direction.

Rhys had asked her to accompany Azriel for his monthly report of the new Crossroads Camp. Apparently some of the older Illyrians were still bitter about him and Cassian; and while Cassian tended to command more respect than Az, Rhys wanted to give his brother a chance to garner the same authority over the camp and their captains.

“So why am I going with him?” Morrigan chided after Rhys explained his plan to her, wondering if it was punishment for chastising him those few nights prior.

Rhys shrugged in his usual arrogance, “Moral support. But I want to keep it clear to all the Illyrians that there are females in my council as well. That the idea of integration didn’t come from nothing. That females have just as much right to fight and to rule as the males to.”

“I suppose you have no one else to go since Feyre’s a bit encumbered.”

“Please, if I mentioned anything about this to Feyre she’d figure out a way to weasle herself into the camp before I’d ever realize she was gone.”

“Her shields too good for you Rhysie?” Morrigan teased with a wink.

“Better than mine when she’s trying.” He replied with all seriousness, a hint of a prideful smile on his lips. 

Morrigan bit her lip at the memory. He had been serious about what he said; about wanting Feyre to take more of a leading role. Morrigan had held the position in the past; she had done all that she could to keep Velaris safe from Amarantha’s gaze one hundred and fifty years ago. She had acted as an emissary between the mortal realm and the Night Court before then as well. She had fought for the Court of Dreams even before it was a twinkle in Rhys’ eye. 

But now that Feyre was his wife, and mate, and most importantly the High Lady of the Night Court, Morrigan had considerably less and less responsibility over the last century. Not that she was unhappy to have more time on her hands. But she could feel the balance shift within the Court of Dreams.

“Something the matter?” Azriel’s smooth voice pulled Morrigan from her thoughts.

She blinked and said, “No. Just taking in the camp.” It wasn’t a total lie. The camp’s improvements and expansions had almost been overwhelming. 

Azriel sniffed, “You had that look on your face when you’re thinking too hard.”

Of course Azriel knew her tells and could read her like a book. Almost anyone who knew her well enough could easily figure her out; all because of her blessing of a curse that was her gift.

“It’s impressive the changes that have been made.” Morrigan gestured to an integrated group of young Illyrians. “It’s good to see everyone getting along.” She caught Azriel studying her carefully. He blinked slowly. “Or at least,” she added, “the younger ones are getting along well. Right?”

Azriel nodded, “The younger ones, yes.” he said as he turned his gaze from Morrigan. The breath of air she released was more of a huff than a sigh of relief. She knew Azriel had seen right through her; he saw right through everything. 

Morrigan followed Azriel’s gaze to the three war-lords gathered near the main building of the camp. One of them clutched a helmet under her arm and was speaking intensely with Devlon and Cree.

“Saaphica,” Azriel said, naming the surprise third member to Morrigan. “Her war-camp is in the southern mountains.”

“The south? There aren’t any war-camps in the south.” Morrigan whispered.

“There weren’t any. Rhys appointed a handful of war-lords before the integration to train younger females in secret. They took up camps in the south and central areas of the Night Court.” Azriel explained quickly.

"Why is she here, then?" There was a buzz of tension in the air as they approached the war-lords. Azriel didn't answer, but Morrigan could feel that something was very, very wrong. 

Saaphica noticed the approach first and stood up straighter. "Lord Azriel, Lady Morrigan." Morrigan held in her snort. Azriel's wings noticeably stiffened. 

"We weren't expecting you this morning," Azriel said hesitating as Devlon scowled and crossed his arms, somehow looking even more put-out. "What business, Saaphica?" The Illyrian’s wings stiffened, her eyes glanced between them and the other war-lords; Morrigan figured this was her first time speaking to Azriel.

“There was a landslide at my camp on the southern edge of the Valerian Mountains. Kaeva reported strange animal activity in the central camp and strange scent trails that lead to nowhere. I came here to report the problem and ask for assistance. Several of my Illyrians went missing after the landslide and none of my scouts have found any trace of them for days."

“Days?” Morrigan exhaled.

Saaphica nodded, “That’s right. The landslide happened the mornings after Starfall.”

Azriel and Morrigan exchanged a look. Azriel’s gaze was steady and unreadable as usual; Morrigan supposed she should be grateful to be able to lean on him for being able to stay so calm. 

“Do you have any idea what may have caused the landslide?” Azriel asked, straightening himself in a subtle movement and shift of his wings.

Cree snorted, “It’s Spring in the mountains. Ice probably caused a fissure and broke loose a portion of the land when it melted. It happens all the time.” He sneered at Saaphica who was doing her best to maintain composure, “This is what happens when you post up on the peaks rather than in the steppes or valleys.” Saaphica stiffened, desperately trying to keep her wings from flaring defensively. Morrigan wanted to throttle Cree for his arrogance.

“There are climate wards surrounding every active camp to prevent such things from happening naturally.” Azriel’s cool voice slipped in between them. “The High Lord established them centuries ago.” Azriel stared Cree down with a burning hazel glare. A corner of Cree’s mouth twitched, and, before he could respond, Azriel turned to Devlon. “I want your best scouts on reconnaissance in the area surrounding Saaphica and Kaeva’s camps.” Though Devlon nodded, Morrigan noted the stiffness of his neck, and the red staining his cheeks. 

“Might I suggest,” Morrigan chimed in, “that you also send your strongest brutes to assist with clearing and repairing any damage done to Saaphica’s camp.” Cree was so red in the face that he looked like he might explode. Morrigan wanted to grin, but she kept her smile pleasant and subdued.

“They are not brutes.” Devlon growled through gritted teeth.

“Yes we are, Devlon.” Azriel replied, his voice still admirably cool. “And you will do as Morrigan says. The two of you can give me your updated reports at a later time since the priorities have changed.” And with a nod of his head Azriel dismissed them. 

The three of them stood silently as the two males left, grumbling their curses and profanities. When they were well outside of earshot they all seemed to collectively release their breath.

“I hate it when we have to be mean.” Morrigan said, stretching her arms out in front of her.

“No you don’t.” Azriel hedged a glance at her. She winked. “Saaphica,” He addressed her with an outstretched hand, “I apologize that you had to see us like that.” They grasped forearms in a typical Illyrian greeting.

Saaphica smiled, “I’m just glad you arrived when you did. They were about to send me away and I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to ask for help directly from the court.”

“We will always assist when there’s help to be had.” Azriel said with a dip of his chin, and then added, “Within reason, of course.”

“You weren’t able to answer Az’s question earlier.” Morrigan said, “Do you have any suspicions as to what may have caused the landslide?”

Saaphica shrugged, “We were able to track a scent through the mountains near the borders of Kaeva’s camp. Her scouts hadn’t seen anything beyond some animals turning up dead. From the corpses we followed the same scent trail but they led to nowhere. A cliffside, a valley, the middle of a wood. Like whatever the scent belonged to just vanished.”

For a moment no one said anything. Saaphica shifted her gaze Then Azriel asked, “Tell me about the dead animals.”

A complicated expression flashed across Saaphica’s face which Morrigan barely picked up on. It was a mix of worry, confusion, and determination, but at its core was fear. A chill ran up Morrigan’s spine as the war lord spoke, “It’s deer, and foxes, and birds. The biggest we’ve found yet were a pair of mountain cats. But the strangest part is that they're not dead because they were hunted by some predator. The corpses were just left there like whatever killed them was on some sort of rampage.” Morrigan looked to Azriel who had remained stoic, thoughtful even, throughout Saaphica’s description. Morrigan didn’t know where to begin with the strange deaths, but she could see the wheels of Azriel’s mind beginning to turn.

“We will be looking into it.” Azriel glanced to Morrigan and he straightened his back again, “We’ll be a bit early, but the High Lord will want to hear of this right away.”

Morrigan placed a hand on Azriel’s shoulder, “I’m sure he won’t mind us interrupting.”

“Before you go!” Saaphica blurted taking a half-step towards them. “I just wanted to thank you. Devlon and Cree still struggle with accepting Kaeva and I as equals. I just want to work towards a place where our people are strong and safe, if not skilled enough to protect themselves. Getting them to give us any kind of help is like pulling a tooth.” She hesitated and smiled appreciatively, her deep brown eyes sparkling in the late-morning sun. “So thank you.”

Azriel nodded, “As I said, we’re always here to help. Focus on rebuilding and finding your missing Illyrians. If you need anything normal channels of communication are always open. Don’t be afraid to contact us directly. Someone from the court will be in touch soon.” Saaphica placed a fist over her heart in salute, and Azriel mirrored the gesture as Morrigan winnowed them away.

They appeared at the edge of the abandoned war camp. Morrigan shivered slightly and pulled her collar tighter around her neck. "Well that didn't go poorly." She said plucking the pair of gloves from her pockets and tugging them on. 

"No." Azriel agreed. 

There was a flash of red light followed by a roar of swirling blue from deeper within the camp. The air was filled with the tang of magic. Wordlessly, Azriel started in the direction of the clashing magics. Morrigan followed. She hadn’t been to this camp before; at least, she thought she hadn’t. To her almost all of the Illyrian camps looked the same, and, had Rhys not shown her the exact location prior, she might have winnowed them to some other camp. They had the same archery ranges, same dining lodges with attached food stores, a row of towers with hanging dummies and targets for flight combat training, a training pit here, a training pit there. The biggest difference with this camp from the rest she’d been to was the delipidation of the structures. With the way the wood had rotted and stonework was cracked and obvious lack of Illyrians in training this camp must have been abandoned for quite some time. 

As Morrigan and Azriel drew nearer to the center of the camp where the training was conspicuously being held the tang of magic, and the sounds of combat grew stronger and louder. But something else swelled inside Morrigan’s mind, like a scent caught in the mountain winds. She peered within her mind once more seeing the looming, intricately carved iron door. The key she had once grasped in her hand was already in it’s lock. Curious, Morrigan lifted her hand and turned the key.

They turned the corner and Morrigan immediately caught the scent of something intense stuff it’s way up her nose. Something foreign, but instantly familiar. Something citrusy and sweet, yet burning with determination. Her vision focused out of the blurry brightness of the magic sparking and swirling before them. There was a pause in the sparring. 

And the world seemed to slow.

Strands of golden hair had slipped from it’s braid. Sweat gleamed on her dirt-covered face. Turquoise eyes narrowed slightly, focused and analyzing. She breathed heavily, but it was controlled, trained. She was beautiful and elegant, fierce and defiant, perfect. Worst of all Morrigan knew without hesitation who this stranger was.

The door within her mind was flung open wide. A gaping maw into a new unknown. There would be no turning back from this door. It was cruel, and unfair, and impossible, but there was no running from this kind of truth.

They were mates.

A set of violet eyes caught hers from beyond the sparring pair. He was cool and calculating, his head tilted ever so slightly to the side in cautious curiosity. She felt Rhys’ mind reach out to hers, a gentle worry for the plethora of sudden emotion she was sure was written all over her face. Morrigan shook her head, throwing up extra mental shields to make her point. Rhys’ mind backed away, but the look on his face told her she wasn’t off the hook for long. She felt sick. She had to get away from this place, from that scent, from her. 

Morrigan took a step back from Azriel’s side, hoping that the movement was subtle, but far enough away, that her rippling form as she winnowed away would go unnoticed.

Mates.

She had found her mate.

And she was afraid.


End file.
